My Name: Matthew Sanborn Smith. My challenge: Write 1000 stories by the time I'm 50 years old. Current story count: 158. Current age: 47. (Yes, I know it will never happen. I push on regardless.)
The One-Thousand is made up of stories that are aimed at publication in professional venues.
I've been published at Tor.com, Nature, and Chizine, among others. Listen to me on the occasional StarShipSofa and every single Beware the Hairy Mango. Shoot me an e-mail at upwithgravity@gmail.com

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Milk Maid

MILK MAIDby Matthew Sanborn Smith

They hung a cow on the kitchen wall so the children could enjoy fresh-squeezed milk anytime they wanted. When Charlie and his wife, Shirley, came over for cards (four games of solitaire in separate corners of the game room (they were social, but not crazy social)), Dave thought he heard Shirley mumbling something from her corner about cow's milk not being right for children.

"Human children evolved to digest human milk, not cow's milk," she said as she slapped her cards on the table. Her logic sounded good to Dave and he felt foolish for putting all that money in a cow instead of the magic beans he'd been eying at the marketplace.

He sold the cow the next day and hung a human on the wall instead. Her name was Myrtle and the kids enjoyed her milk. Dave found himself in awe of the size of the woman's breasts to the point where it began to interfere with his digestion.

That night, after Elke fell asleep, Dave snuck out to the kitchen. He hadn't been there for two minutes before Elke flipped on the light behind him.

"Hwah!" Dave said, pissing his pajama bottoms.

"What are you doing?" Elke asked.

"Me? I was, ah, just getting some milk, is all."

"I don't think you're supposed to drink it straight from the tap like that," Elke said.

"Uh, no, that's okay because, see, it's better that way. The . . . The milk doesn't hit the oxygen in the air and it doesn't . . . It doesn't have a chance to . . . sour . . . as fast."